Kuta…the Curate’s Egg

Kuta, Perth’s northernmost suburb, has been a happy playground for Aussies this last half century gone.

It started to go off full tilt about the time the Americans landed on the Moon.  Now the Jews have crashed onto the Moon and the Chinese are up to something inscrutable on the dark side and still the Aussies come.

Upon arrival I picked my way through the material evidence of the ancient wisdom and sartorial splendour of the Balinese.  

Some people critically question the affect we carefree and insouciant Aussies have had on the local culture, but I would say to them, truly, get a big dog up ya.

There are pommie bogans too, even strangely toffy ones.  Jamie is here, pulling and blistering in angry water and silky butter.

The Street Art is pretty good.  Is that Joan Rivers ?

Families scoot by ads for free ciggies.

Little Aussie bleeders are everywhere, (but only male bleeders, it seems, are allowed.)

On my first day I stumbled down to the beach, expectations around my ankles, and was surprised and delighted to see that it was…well….fantastic.

Seriously, golden sand in a long beautiful arc, multi coloured tropical clean warm water, happy people everywhere.

But, gentle reader, the very next day I thought I’d unloose my toes onto that golden sand and dabble them in the warm turquoise water again only to find…this !

It seems that every other day the tide carries in tonnes of rubbish from Java and dumps it onto Kuta.  Paradise lost indeed. But come here, do.  You have to fly in very close by anyway and if you come on the right day and the tide is flowing in the right direction you can still see one of the great beaches of the world.

And if all else fails there’s always Poppies Bungalows, a different world to retreat into, a little slice of Paradise smack bang in the middle of the swirling madness.